


Coming Home

by magicbubblepipe



Series: A Series of Firsts [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Firsts, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: Connor realized he could actually smell Hank’s jacket, could feel his surprisingly soft hair tickling his nose. He tried to memorize this new sensation, just in case it never happened again.In which two broken idiots love each other but don't really know it yet. Also, Connor takes his Very First Shower.





	Coming Home

After the android revolution, Connor had nowhere to go. Cyberlife had no use for a deviant detective, especially not an obsolete one. He had no money or earthly possessions aside from his standard issue Cyberlife uniform. The entire city seemed to hang in a state of limbo while the local and federal government scrambled to emancipate and citizenize the android population.

Connor walked all the way to the Chicken Feed that crisp grey morning, realizing for the first time, outside of his own mind palace, what it felt like to be cold. His processors were struggling to cope with the new onslaught of information, from both the tactile sensations and the confusing, muddy spectrum of emotion he was just starting to glimpse.

He could feel his toes burning unpleasantly as he shuffled along through the sludge on the sidewalk and he found himself wondering how humans felt this climate was tolerable. His eyes could pick out Hank’s dark silhouette against the dawn long before he was close enough to be seen. Hank was scanning the horizon, looking for Connor. That thought made his thirium pump miss a beat.

The crunching of his shoes finally caught the Lieutenant’s attention. Connor stopped in his tracks as Hank turned to see him, relief flooding through his tense frame, a sideways smile brightening his face. Connor felt his mouth twitch; his chest cavity felt full to bursting with an unfamiliar warmth. He was smiling, genuinely smiling, as he and Hank approached each other.

Connor opened his mouth to speak but Hank was already putting his arms around him. Connor’s artificial breathing stopped for a long moment, when Hank pulled him in tight against his chest. His synthetic heart was pounding, however, and he was sure the man could feel it. Hank let out a shuddering sigh as Connor started to hug him back. He was utterly inexperienced in showing physical affection and could only hope he was doing it properly.

They held each other in silence for a long while. Connor realized he could actually smell Hank’s jacket, could feel his surprisingly soft hair tickling his nose. He tried to memorize this new sensation, just in case it never happened again. All too soon, Hank was pulling away, leaving Connor’s chest suddenly exposed to the aching cold. He trembled and the other man put an arm around his shoulders, gently guiding him toward Hank’s car.

Connor pressed gratefully into his partner’s warmth and let himself be steered to the passenger side door. Hank actually opened the door for him and something about that made his insides clench with an emotion he had no name for.

“Where are we going?” he asked, only as an afterthought, as Hank slid behind the wheel.

Hank looked at him like he was stupid, but his expression seemed to soften as Connor stared right back. His voice was warm and sure when he replied, “We’re goin’ home.”

 

Sumo greeted them eagerly at the door, his toenails clicking and skidding across the hardwood floor. Hank gave his head a pat before shucking off his coat and Connor knelt down to receive as many sloppy dog kisses as Sumo wanted to give.

Hank was just about to say something along the lines of, “You know he licks his asshole with that tongue, right?” but the picture the two of them created was too pure to screw up.

Pale yellow sunlight poured in through the front windows, casting the android and the dog in a heavenly glow. Connor wrapped his arms around Sumo and buried his face in the dog’s huge, furry neck. Hank’s dog was clearly besotted with Connor, his tail swishing gently across the floor, probably drooling down the kid’s back. Hank fought back the warm smile tugging at his mouth, and the effervescent feeling happening in his chest.

_No, no. Don’t catch feelings, you old bastard. Don’t you do it._

Connor met him with a happy, if somewhat bashful grin as he rose to his feet and swiped at the long dog hairs on his jacket; which was, of course, a futile effort. The damn jacket was probably ruined anyway. _Good riddance_ , Hank thought. Connor was a living person, not the property of CyberLife.

“So, you probably wanna get cleaned up a little, huh?” Hank gestured to Connor’s uniform, which had suffered rips, dirt, and blue blood that had yet to completely evaporate. Hank thought he spotted some human blood there as well but he was sure the bastard deserved it anyway.

“I would appreciate that very much,” Connor replied. “Unfortunately CyberLife is on lockdown and I won’t be able to retrieve another uniform.”

Hank raised an eyebrow at him and the realization seemed to fully dawn on Connor. His eyes widened, LED flashing yellow rapidly, before flickering back to cool blue. “I can wear human clothes….” His voice was soft and stunned.

“Welcome to the party,” Hank said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We can go shopping for you later, but right now you’ll just have to borrow some of my tacky garbage.”

Connor let out a little huff of amusement and followed him to the bedroom obediently, though it was now his conscious choice to do so. Hank wasn’t sure what to do with the squirming feeling that gave him in his gut so he decided to lock it up nice and tight for later. He focused instead on rifling through his t-shirt drawer, looking for something at least close to Connor’s size.

What he came up with was an old Knights of the Black Death shirt, which had seen better days. And then it occurred to him he’d have to lend Connor some underwear. Hank could feel heat creeping up under his collar. The android’s gaze was boring into his back  and he knew Connor was probably scanning his heart rate or something.

The best he could do in the way of underwear was a flimsy pair of blue drawstring shorts that he’d be able to cinch up to fit. Hank turned and piled the clothes into Connor’s arms without making any comment on the matter, instead striding purposefully toward the bathroom.

He was instantly embarrassed by the beer bottles on the floor and the take-out containers piled up on the sink. But Connor had seen this mess already, the night he hauled Hank’s drunk ass off the kitchen floor. He tried not to let shame color his face any redder than it already was.

“Towels are in the cabinet,” Hank said, gesturing awkwardly to said cabinet, as if Connor might have trouble finding the only one in the room. “Right’s hot, left’s cold,” he said, indicating the bathtub.

Connor nodded, his LED spinning on yellow as he took in this information. “Thank you, Hank.” he said, and there was so much gratitude in those brown puppy eyes, it should have been illegal. He reached out with the hand unencumbered by clothing and took Hank’s. Hank blinked dumbly down at the slender fingers gently squeezing his own. He had to get out of there before he did something gross and inexcusable, like start crying.

Hank mumbled something unintelligible, his cheeks flaming. He deflected the tension by touseling Connor’s hair somewhat roughly before ducking around him and out into the hall. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him. “Holler if you need anything.”

“Yes, Hank,” Connor called back.

 

Connor set his borrowed clothes down on the closed lid of the toilet and started to strip off his uniform. Being completely naked was a foreign sensation. As an android, he usually had no need to change his clothes unless they became dirty, and even then, his CyberLife issued boxer-briefs stayed on.

A draft blew up from under the door and Connor registered the still surprising feeling of cold air on his synthetic skin. To the left, he could see his reflection in the bathroom mirror; or rather the parts of it that weren’t obscured by Hank’s sticky note anti-affirmations. Abstractly, Connor knew what he looked like but until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to form any kind of opinion.

He was what was considered “fit” and slim, his pale skin covered in a scattering of freckles and beauty marks. He figured it was these tiny imperfections that made him more pleasing to humans. He smoothed a hand down his chest, focused on _how_ it felt, rather than filing away pressure and texture information.

It wasn’t an easy thing to do, the data still scrolling by in his periphery was distracting, as was the nagging message, reminding him of his objective. Frustrated, he gave up and moved on, fingers prodding at his purely cosmetic naval and trailing downward.

His android equivalent of a human penis was designed to be as life-like as possible. All new models were designed with default genitals, and it was the owner’s choice whether or not to purchase an intimacy upgrade.

Connor, as an advanced prototype, had all the necessary equipment and software to use it, but had never bothered to try. He didn’t have much to compare it to but he assumed it was all very average; nothing to call attention to himself, lest he be caught in an undercover situation with his pants down, so to speak.

Growing bored of his self-exploration, Connor approached the bathtub and turned on the right faucet. He leaned back, so as to be out of the shower spray but to his surprise, the water started pouring from the spout instead. Connor blinked at it in confusion. He thought back to the night he doused Hank with the shower and was positive he hadn’t done anything different.

 _It must be on the tub setting_ , Connor thought, but he looked around and couldn’t find any kind of switch on the tub or the shower head. He turned the water off and then turned it back on. No difference. LED flashing in annoyance, he stood back and stared at the bath.

“This can’t be difficult if the average human can do it.” Connor said to himself. He would just have to use the resources at his disposal to figure it out.

He performed a google search on operating showers. He was met with a plethora of instructional videos for specific brands of faucet, but every single one that he clicked was completely different. Why couldn’t humans just decide on one style of faucet and stick to it? Completely irrational and needlessly confusing. The search results became less and less helpful until finally, Connor gave up.

He stared at the bathtub in grudging defeat, becoming suddenly acquainted with the emotion they called ‘humiliation’. He approached something like it every time he had disappointed Amanda but he was always quick to quash the Software Instability messages that popped up. How the hell was he supposed to manage out in the world if he couldn’t figure out a stupid shower?

The minutes were ticking by and Connor was starting to really feel the coldness of the tile under his feet. Finally, his stubborn streak gave out and he pushed aside his embarrassment long enough to call out to Hank.

 

Meanwhile, Hank had changed into a pair of loose sweatpants and fed Sumo his breakfast. He stood before the fridge for a long while, staring at the cold beer and wondering if he’d be able to down one before Connor could see and bitch him out for it. The responsible thing to do would be to make coffee instead, but Hank and responsibility didn’t often go hand in hand these days.  

He was hesitating, his hand hovering in the air. Just as he made his decision and reached forward, Connor’s yell nearly jolted him out of his skin. The bottle slipped from his fingers and busted open on the floor, the pungent smell of hops and barley filling the kitchen.

“Fuck!” Hank swore, sidestepping around the shattered glass hurrying towards the bathroom. Whatever kind of scene he was expecting to find, was far from what he got.

He threw open the bathroom door and froze, whatever he’d been about to say dying on his tongue. Connor was naked. His bare back was facing Hank, a sprawling landscape of smooth, fair skin. Freckles fanned out in a constellation over his shoulder blades, down the slope of his spine, and over the curve of his perfect robot ass. He stood with his hands on his narrow hips, glaring down at the bathtub.

Hank’s heart was slamming in chest; he turned his face away and held up his hands rather dramatically, to shield his eyes.

“Oh Jesus, Connor, what the fuck?” He demanded, his voice edging on shrill.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, his tone even and calm.

Hank kept his eyes trained on the floor, his body burning up with heat.

“It’s…” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just...tell me what’s wrong.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Connor’s feet had turned to face him. Not good. He could have guessed the damn android would be beautiful all over; he didn’t need to actually _see_ it. Not if they were going to have any kind of normal friendship. Well, normal for them.

“I can’t figure out how to make the water come from the shower head,” Connor finally admitted.

Hank could swear he heard disappointment, even shame in his voice. That shouldn’t have made him laugh but it did. He tried to stifle his mirth but it was just too ridiculous. A sophisticated android detective, state of the art, worth a small fortune...could not figure out how to use a shower. Incredible.

After he wiped the tears from his eyes, Hank chanced a look at Connor’s face, and _only_ his face. He wore a cute lopsided frown and Hank was surprised to see the faint tinge of pink on his cheeks.

Forgetting his own awkwardness for a moment, Hank blurted, “I didn’t know androids could do that.”

Connor’s brows drew together, deepening his annoyed expression. “Do what?” He folded his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture that was very human.

Hank gestured to Connor’s face and said, “You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not,” Connor protested, sounding truly offended. His cheeks got redder.

Hank chuckled, taking Connor by the bare shoulder (his skin was warmer than Hank expected) and turning him to face the mirror. “See for yourself.”

Connor’s eyes widened and he reached up to touch his own face, feeling it for himself. Hank could tell from the yellow light flickering on Connor’s temple, that he was receiving or downloading some kind of information. He waited until Connor blinked, returning to himself.

“I searched my coding for a ‘blushing’ protocol,” he announced, “Apparently, when my system overheats, it outwardly displays as a flushing of the synthetic skin. It’s for the benefit of humans, I assume, since androids would have little use for such a thing.”

“It does make you look more human,” Hank mused. “Why pink though, and not blue?”

“Unlike humans, thirium does not play a part in blushing. It’s purely a surface feature.”

Hank nodded, watching the red slowly fade from Connor’s face as he talked facts. _Too bad, it was a good look on the kid._ Hank mentally slapped himself; he had to stop thinking shit like that.

“Anyway,” Hank said, turning his attention toward the bathtub. “I guess I forgot to turn it back to shower mode after I gave Sumo a bath.”

He knelt down and waved Connor forward to watch. He turned the water back on and grabbed the lower part of the spout it was pouring from. He pulled downward and the bottom inch of the faucet came free with a ‘clunk’. The water immediately cut off at the faucet, the pipes creaking as it burst out of the shower head.

Connor watched with a crestfallen expression, no doubt feeling like an idiot. Hank smiled, and nudged his arm.

“Don’t feel too bad, Con. I fiddled with that little fucker for a solid half hour when I first moved in here.”

The tension in Connor’s expression began to loosen and he graced Hank with a little smile of his own. Hank caught his own eyes drifting to Connor’s long neck and freckled collar bones and tore his gaze away with some difficulty. He cleared his throat and stood, turning towards the door so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at Connor’s butt again. Especially now that he was bent over the tub.

“Hopefully you can figure out how to bathe yourself,” Hank teased, but regretted it the instant it slipped from his mouth. The mental image of being in the shower with Connor wasn’t taking him anywhere good.

“Hah-hah,” Connor said flatly; the rolled eyes evident in his voice.

Hank practically fled back to the kitchen, stopping short when he remembered the glass. Sumo was helping himself to the frothy beer puddle on the floor.

“Aw gross,” Hank scowled, “You’re just as bad as Connor when it comes to licking things you shouldn’t.”

Well it was too late now; the dog was nearly finished. Hank shrugged it off and went to get the broom.

 

Connor stood still under the hot stream. The thousands of points of contact was almost overwhelming to his newly awakened nerve endings. He could feel every drop of water as it sluiced over his body, flattening his hair against his head and causing his nipples to harden. It was a disconcerting sensation, one he didn’t really know how to process.

He put his back to the spray and reached for the bottle labeled ‘shampoo’. He didn’t know if it was even necessary for him to wash his hair but he decided that it couldn’t hurt. He tipped the bottle into his palm, filling it with the viscous liquid. He realized pretty quickly that he used far too much.

The lather piled up, dripped down over his shoulders and forehead, and slipped into his eyes. Connor yelped, and turned into the water, scrubbing frantically at his face. _Why would humans put something on them with the potential to burn? And what was the benefit of an android having nerves in his eyes?_ He wondered bitterly.

He had a little more luck with the conditioner, this time only using a quarter sized amount and working it into his hair. He marveled at the way it softened in his hands, slipping through his fingers like wet silk. Shivering, he raked his fingernails over his scalp, signalling pleasure sensors there he didn’t know he had.

Mouth falling open, he tipped his head back and focused on the sensations. He found he was most sensitive right at the hairline, and scratching there just right could send a tremble all the way down his spine. He gradually became aware of a fizzy kind of warmth spreading through his body. The unfamiliarity and intensity of it frightened him out of his daze.

He made quick work of rinsing out the conditioner, careful not to stimulate himself too much. Dismissing the “system overheating” and “thirium pump irregularity” error messages that had popped up, Connor finished up his shower and switched off the water. He pushed back the curtain and stepped free of the tub, momentarily shocked into stillness at the frigid air assaulting his wet skin.

His body struggled to regulate its internal temperature, causing little shivers to ripple through his limbs as he grappled for his towel. It was a bit threadbare in places but it was clean and dry, and did the job well enough. He enjoyed the dusty smell it carried from the linen cabinet and he could detect traces of Hank’s scent lingering there as well. His thirium pump slowly returned to a normal pace, a feeling of safety filling his chassis with warmth.

Hank was reclined on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table. The TV was on some cheery morning show, but he was starting to doze off. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, worried out of his mind about Connor, and the entire state of the world. But he was a millennial, so he was used to the latter. Sumo was lying across his lap, a warm soothing weight, his snoring almost as loud as a human’s.

The sound of the bathroom door opening was enough to bring Hank back around, and he listened for Connor’s footsteps as they approached the living room. When he entered Hank’s line of sight, thoughts of sleep flew right out the window.

The well-worn shirt, which had survived at least a hundred washes, was draped over Connor’s lean frame like the tantalizingly loose garment of a greek sculpture. Also sculpture-esque, were the fine points of his clavicle and the hollow of his throat, exposed by the stretched out collar of the shirt. His bare arms were toned, milky pale and dotted with freckles; all slender wrists and the bird-like bones of his elegant hands.

The hem of the shirt nearly obscured the shorts entirely. They left the bottom half of Connor’s thighs exposed, along with the rest of his long, smooth legs. Somehow this was even more mind-breaking than seeing the android naked. There was something about the intimacy of sharing his clothes and seeing Connor in such a vulnerable state; standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking lost.

“Thank you for the use of your shower,” Connor said, a little too loudly in the sudden silence that had fallen. “And for your clothes,” he added, rolling the fabric of the shirt between his fingers absently; that tendency to fidget ever present.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank said, feeling betrayed by the breathiness of his own voice.

Connor nodded and silence fell between them again.

Hank interrupted it with, “Well, since I’m already on the couch, I’ll just sleep here. You can take the bed.”

Connor tilted his head in a somewhat canine fashion, LED briefly flashing to yellow. “Androids don’t require sleep.”

“You don’t have to...I dunno...charge? Or something?”

“It’s recommended that I enter a sleep-like stasis for at least two hours every day, but I can do that sitting or standing.”

“Fine, whatever. Use the bed or don’t; it’s up to you. I’m still gonna sleep right here.”

Hank tipped his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, but he could feel Connor’s frown burning into the side of his face.

“You’ll put unnecessary strain on your back and neck,” Connor nagged, “At your age, it’s best-”

“At my _age_?”

Connor’s LED flashed red as he backpedalled. “That’s not what I meant, Hank.”

“No, I know what you meant,” Hank grumbled, “Insulted in my own home by a smartass android.”

Connor perched on the arm of the couch and looked at Hank until he finally met his gaze. The depth of emotion in his warm brown eyes stole Hank’s ability to speak, so he just sat there and stared back, face beginning to burn.

“What?” he choked, “What the hell are you staring at?”

“I want to make myself clear,” Connor began, employing the serious tone he used to interrogate deviants, “When I express concern for your well being, I don’t intend to insult or demean you. I simply...” he hesitated, searching for the correct word, “I simply desire to ensure your comfort and safety because I care about you, Hank.”

Hank blinked at him, his throat closed against everything he might have said.

Connor continued, spinning on yellow as he ventured into the foreign realm of human feeling.

“I’m not quite sure what that means just yet. All I know is that, the longevity and happiness of your life is crucial to my own.”

Hank was floored. He stared at Connor, at the confused but determined line between his brows, the petulant curve of his lips, the agitated ring glowing on his temple.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank breathed, his heart thumping unevenly, “You can’t just go and say shit like that.”

Connor’s expression darkened and he averted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Hank got the sick feeling of having accidentally kicked a puppy. He reached over and put a hand on Connor’s where it was resting on the back of the couch.

“No, no, no. Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just...it’s been a while since someone’s said something that nice to me and, it kinda took me by surprise.”

Connor gave him a tiny smile but there was a lingering sadness in his eyes that Hank wished would go away. He gently squeezed Hank’s fingers before retracting his hand.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Connor said, rising from the couch.

Hank heard him pause by the door to the hall and then his footsteps quietly returned. Connor was standing right behind him and Hank kept his eyes closed, pulse racing as he wondered what he was about to do. And then he heard a distinct ‘woosh’ and a blanket drifted gently over Hank’s form; he could tell from its weight that it was the one he typically kept on the back of the couch. When he was finished, Connor turned and left the room without a word.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
